Lord of the Ring
by willshakespeare-immortalbard
Summary: School!AU: Legolas Greenleaf finds that making friends at the esteemed boarding school, Rivendell Academy—with its cliques and its rivalry with Mordor High—is easier said than done. But with the help of a kind, wise teacher and a literature assignment, Legolas learns to find his own friends, and to become the Lord of his own Ring. Rated K-plus; please r/r!
1. Introductions, pt1

**A/N**—I don't own _The Lord of the Rings_; that belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I also don't own _The Lord of the Rings_ movies; those belong to Peter Jackson. (While this is a book-based fanficiton, inevitably movies influence writing, and credit is due where credit is due).

**Notes**—I've always been intrigued by modern-day school fanfictions—perhaps it's due to my love of films like _The Breakfast Club_ and _Pretty in Pink_, and _Mean Girls_. I know that literally hundreds of other writers have contributed to the school!LOTR AU pool; I'm hoping to make my own, unique contribution. Please bear with me—this is the wildest thing I've ever written!

**Notes**—Despite this being a modern-day AU, I've chosen to retain Tolkien's races (elves, dwarves, etc) and the histories behind them.

**Summary**—Legolas Greenleaf finds that making friends at the esteemed boarding school, Rivendell Academy—with its cliques and its rivalry with Mordor High—is easier said than done. But with the help of a kind, wise teacher and a literature assignment, Legolas learns to find his own friends, and to become the Lord of his own Ring. Rated K-plus for typical high school drama, and possible language.

* * *

><p><span><strong>LORD OF THE RING<strong>

Legolas knew from moment number one that there was _no way_ that he was ever going to fit in at Rivendell Academy.

"You've been transferred here because of behavioral issues, your father said." The principal was a tall, foreboding elf who—Legolas guessed—wasn't inclined to brook any _behavioral issues_.

"Yes, Mr. Elrond," Legolas said.

"Would you like to elaborate on what those behavioral issues were?"

"Do I have to?" (Legolas most definitely did _not_ feel like elaborating).

"No. We believe in freedom for all students, whether that is freedom of race or freedom of privacy; all we ask, Mr. Greenleaf, is that these behavioral issues are not repeated."

"…so freedom of action isn't included?" Legolas hazarded.

Mr. Elrond's stern face grew sterner. "On the contrary, Mr. Greenleaf. Freedom of action is greatly encouraged, so long as it is constructive. Behavioral issues are not constructive, and are, therefore, not encouraged and not allowed."

"Alright. Got it; freedom of action—"

"Mr. Greenleaf, as your principal I would highly advise that you drop the issue of _freedom of action_; while we encourage you to seek constructive ways of expression your right to act freely, we do not encourage the blatant disrespect for authority that you are already exhibiting. Are we clear on that?"

"…yes, Mr. Elrond. I understand."

"Good. We're happy to have you here, Legolas, and we hope that you'll find a community where you feel free to be yourself and learn in the way most conducive to your success and to your happiness."

"Thank you, Mr. Elrond."

"That being said—and I have already warned your father of this—any behavioral issues that occur will be dealt with harshly, and if they continue after the first few warnings they will have to be punished accordingly."

"Understood, Mr. Elrond."

"Then you're excused. If you have any questions or concerns—_not about freedom of actions, Mr. Greenleaf_ (Mr. Elrond's tone of voice stopped Legolas' parting quip)—then my office is always open to you. Have a wonderful day of classes."

"Thank you, Mr. Elrond," Legolas said one last time before ducking out of the door and into the secretary's office.

"Here's your schedule, child," the secretary—a stiff elf with no nameplate on her desk—said, handing Legolas a sheaf of papers. "You also have your room assignment and a list of policies that the school asks you to abide by. If—goodness, _again_?"

The door to the secretary's office banged open, and a teacher barged in dragging a student by the arm.

"Mr. Elrond is available?" the teacher snapped.

"Of course. Let me let him know—"

"No need, Elvira."—_so that was her name!_—"Aragorn, if you could join me in my office."

The student, who looked rather too old to be attending Rivendell Academy, shrugged himself free of his fuming teacher—who, after receiving a resigned look from the principal, left—and trudged into Mr. Elrond's office, where the door shut.

"That boy!" Elvira sighed, shuffling papers as she talked to herself. "As if I didn't have enough paperwork to do, he's got me writing up detention slips left and right." She looked up as she reached, supposedly, for the aforesaid detention slips, and spotted Legolas. "You have class in half an hour, child; I'd suggest that you get yourself out into the halls and familiar with your classroom locations."

Legolas nodded, biting his tongue to keep himself from a nasty comment about _freedom of action_ that would land him in line for the principal's office, and slipped out of the office and out into the hallway.

* * *

><p>He tripped immediately over a set of legs.<p>

"Oh, beg pardon! I didn't mean no—any—harm!"

Legolas looked down, and beheld a hobbit. Short and well-rounded, he had a face that Legolas guessed was normally good-natured, but was now fretful; as Legolas watched, he scrambled to his feet and wrung his hands.

"I oughtn't to have stretched out so, but I didn't know anyone was going to be coming in. After Mr. Aragorn goes in there's a right long stretch of time before he comes out, and as Mr. Frodo's class don't let out for another ten minutes I thought—"

The door that the young hobbit had been waiting in front of opened, and another teacher (Legolas realized that he probably wasn't going to learn any of their names, as they all looked relatively alike; sir or ma'am would do) glared at the hobbit and Legolas. "Mr. Gamgee, I don't often have to remind you of school policies, but since you're transgressing, and our new arrival could bear to be apprised of the policies, I'll direct your attention to policy eight on his list; both of you remember it, or it'll be into that office next to you to get a detention slip."

Both of them nodded. The door to the classroom closed.

"You're a ninnyhammer," the hobbit muttered beside him, and Legolas whipped around.

"Excuse me?!"

"Sam Gamgee, you've gone and been a ninnyhammer—done just what your Gaffer wouldn't have wanted you to do—"

He was talking to himself, Legolas realized. Leaving the hobbit to his unhappy self-berating, Legolas set off down the hall. As he walked, he rifled through the papers that the secretary had given him and found the list of policies—_Policy #8: Students must maintain a respectful silence within 50 feet of classroom doors. _

"Ughhhh…" Legolas moaned, leaning against the wall and sliding to the floor. "I'm going to hate this place."


	2. Introductions, pt2

**A/N**—I don't own _The Lord of the Rings_; that belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I also don't own _The Lord of the Rings_ movies; those belong to Peter Jackson. (While this is a book-based fanficiton, inevitably movies influence writing, and credit is due where credit is due).

**Notes: **Many thanks to those who have reviewed! I can't tell you how happy I am that you're enjoying this!

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><p>Legolas' first class (<em>Foreign Languages: Explorations<em>) ended in disaster when a loud dwarf in the back contested the teacher's statement about the inadequacy of dwarvish as a real language—"Mr. Gloin-son" was sent to the principal's office after summing up in one word what a sassy hobbit in the front of the room deemed "a pretty good indicator of its adequacy." (The hobbit must have been a favorite, because he escaped with a half-hearted "Mr. Baggins, behave"). The event occurred at the end of class, and only spared them a few minutes, but Legolas accepted the stressed _you may leave_ by hopping to his feet and fleeing the room and heading to the cafeteria.

…the cafeteria was depressing. A cursory glance showed Legolas that it was firmly divided into distinct groups: in one corner he saw a group of men who bantered loudly with each other about a _battle with Mordor_; in another corner he saw the quiet elves (all of whom glared at him when he attempted to approach: obviously a Rivendell elves only club), speaking to each other quietly, only once in a while looking over at the men with looks that suggested they understood the banter occurring; in yet another corner were the dwarves, talking purposefully loudly in their own language as they shot glares at the elves; and in the last corner the hobbits (a small group: only three, though Legolas knew that a few more were scattered about the place), chattering amiably and laughing.

Legolas opted for the end of the table in the last corner; it would do until he could figure out how he was going to convince his father that Rivendell Academy wasn't the right social fit for him.

"Don't!" One of the hobbits—in the commotion Legolas caught sight of a somewhat mature, but mischievous face—leapt to his feet and hollered as Legolas sat—too late: Legolas collapsed tiredly onto the table bench, which cracked beneath him.

It could have been worse; he had put his lunch down, and so avoided spilling it all over himself. But he was caught off guard, and landed firmly on his backside, earning the laughter of the entire cafeteria as an elf (and an outside elf at that!) showed himself lacking in grace.

"I'm…"—the hobbit who had hollered at Legolas was fighting back tears of laughter—"I'm so sorry. T-that wasn't meant for you." He and his companion (a younger looking hobbit who shared his mischievous look, but featured a more naïve expression) were wheezing. "It was meant for Frodo—"

The third hobbit gasped, and Legolas recognized Mr. Gamgee from the hallway. "Mr. Merry! You don't have no—"

"—it's _Merry_, not Mr. Merry! I hate—"

"It wasn't going to hurt him, Sam! (_Sam Gamgee, _Legolas thought) We—"

"Mr. Brandybuck. Mr. Took. Mr. Gamgee." The lofty tones of a teacher stopped the protestations of all three hobbits. "Whatever has happened here _will not happen again_. Understood?"

All three hobbits nodded.

"Mr. Greenleaf—do you require any assistance?"

"No, sir." Legolas said. He was now thoroughly embarrassed and hating Rivendell Academy more and more every second; if the teacher had just stayed away he might have been able to slip off without any more attention: now the entire cafeteria was silent and hanging on every word. "They were just practicing their freedom of action—"

"Mr. Greenleaf." The teacher had obviously been apprised of Legolas' _behavioral issues_, because he stopped Legolas before he could say anymore. "As for you three"—he turned back to the hobbits—"you'll get by this time; another time of this, and you'll go the principal's office, understood?"

All three hobbits nodded again, and the teacher swept off.

They had no sooner rearranged themselves at the table than another hobbit joined them.

* * *

><p>Taller than the other three, Legolas instantly recognized him as the sassy hobbit from foreign languages.<p>

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam Gamgee cried exultantly as the hobbit (Frodo Baggins; Legolas pieced the name together) slid onto the bench next to him after slamming his textbook against the backs of the two other hobbits' heads. Frodo smiled at Sam, though he didn't answer; instead he looked at Legolas.

"I don't know about you, but I think Gimli proved his point in class today."

"…who?"

"In foreign languages."

"Oh, the dwarf!" It clicked (Gimli Gloin-son).

Frodo nodded; he looked momentarily irate, and he fiddled with something on a chain about his neck.

"What's that?" Legolas asked, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from whatever had made a bad impression and into more friendly waters.

"It's the Ring!" Pippin screeched loudly and enthusiastically. Merry made overly dramatic hushing noises, as if there was some kind of secret that Pippin was giving away. Sam looked torn, unsure as if whether to smile at the two other hobbits' antics, or whether to tell them to stop. Frodo smiled.

"It's my uncle's old ring. Nothing special, really; he found it and liked it, and once he started getting questions about whether or not he was married from students, he gave it to me."

"Your uncle teaches?" Legolas asked.

"Yeah, here—Poetry."

"Who else do I need to know?" Legolas muttered—did everybody at Rivendell Academy know everybody else?

The answer, apparently, was _yes_: Frodo took Legolas at his word and pointed across the room at (Legolas realized) the student who had been dragged into the principal's office earlier that day.

"That's Aragon: he's the son of someone famous (don't ask me who), but he hasn't been living up to the standard. That girl"—Frodo pointed to the lovely elf who was sitting next to him and smiling like a star—"is Arwen: she's Mr. Elrond's daughter, and he couldn't be angrier that she's infatuated with a 'rebel.'Over there at the 'men's' table "—Frodo grabbed Legolas' hand and directed his finger to a tall, handsome man who was tossing a football up and down—"is Boromir: he's the son of the mayor (no mysteries with him); he's also incredibly stuck up, and obsessed with the fight against Mordor."

"Mordor?" Legolas asked; he remembered hearing the word when he had walked by the table.

"The land of darkness!" Pippin cried out dramatically, while Merry pretended to shiver and cower. Sam's eyes were fixed on Frodo.

"Rival school," Frodo explained. "Rivendell Academy and Mordor Institute have had different ideas on education for years. Rivendell says (however hypocritically) that students should be allowed freedom of expression, and individuality, and all that jazz—read the mission statement if you don't believe me. Mordor Institute believes that education should be the guiding principle of every life—essentially students should submit to a kind of slavery to education. All that academic stuff spills over and gets expressed in the football games."

Before Legolas could give a response, Frodo was off again. "Over there at the 'dwarves' table' you've got Gimli"—he gestured to the dwarf who had spoken out in class. "He's not from the same 'stock' as Aragorn and Boromir, but he's great. And then there's us: Merry and Pippin."—Frodo waved nonchalantly at the two hobbits who were still wrapped up in whatever melodramatic joke they were playing at. "They're my cousins. There's Sam"—Legolas smiled at the hobbit, glad to finally know someone for certain—"who isn't related to me: he use to help out with my uncle's garden before he moved here to teach; he came with us when we moved."

"Why?" Legolas asked, finally getting a word in.

"Because." Frodo laughed. That was the only answer forthcoming.

"And you?" Legolas asked again, motioning toward Frodo.

"Me? I moved here with my uncle."

"That's all?"

"About me, or about the school? Not that it matters—both. That's all you need to know about me, and I've pointed out everyone of importance at school."

"Everyone of importance?!" Legolas could have cried.

"Of importance to you: I hate to break it to you, but if you wanted a social life at this school you should have been born and raised in the Rivendell area. We're the only people who will give you the time of day—except for Boromir; he's someone you ought to know, just so you can avoid him."

A bell rang, and the entire cafeteria began to empty. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin stood up as well.

"Enjoy Rivendell Academy," Frodo said; his eyes looked sad for a moment, and the sass that had marked him out for attention in foreign languages was gone for a brief instant. "See you around."

Then everybody was gone—_was Rivendell Academy so strict on class attendance?_—and Legolas was more certain than ever that he was not going to fit in, and that he was going to hate every second.


End file.
